Saving Civilization
by Kur8Kami117
Summary: The survivors are children no longer, and their world is at war yet again. Somehow, they all manage to crash together on the same island as before. This time, there is also a girl there. Her goal: saving civilization. Rating may go up. NOT AU. PROBABLY no pairings.
1. Reminiscing and Return

**A/N:** Hi everyone! I'm submitting this for a school assignment, and I wanted to put it up here so all of you could read it. :) Apparently, girl-on-the-island fics seem a bit cliche, but I haven't read that many. I'm guessing that most writers put a girl on the island so that there can be some non-yaoi romance. **As of right now, I don't plan on putting any romance in this story.** If I feel like it, I might make alternate romantic versions if I have time and if you seem to think it would be a good idea. Also, my OC doesn't appear in this chapter. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are highly appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own LotF. Well, I own a copy of it. If I owned the idea, I would have went into more detail concerning backstories.

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The grey clouds hung in the sky like great beasts suspended in time, spectators to the battle unfolding in their aerial domain. The two planes danced and darted around each other like two birds, but this ritual was one of death. The fair-haired man tried once more to get above the enemy so he could drop the bomb on it and bring his foe to death, but the target flew higher once more with the same goal in mind. The pilot cursed. Why someone would want to create a dictatorship, much less support one, he did not know. The first war had scarcely ended, and now there was a second one because some wannabe ruler was working to seize the recovering countries as bricks to form his power. Then again, the world was far from perfect, and he knew from experience that society tended to flock to the strong whether they were just or not. He had decided years ago that the only perfect society was that in Heaven, but he did not want to die just yet.

He rose higher and saw his opponent do the same. He was tired of this mirroring. How ironic that the planes were moving in such a similar fashion despite their pilots fighting for opposite goals. He tried another approach and dived into the cloudy maw of grey that gaped below him.

He allowed himself a smile. This had probably thrown the enemy off. One minute, and he'd shoot up and finally get higher. He lamented the reality that things must be settled violently, but he knew that peaceful solutions seldom worked. He decided that he must take the role society had given him and play it to the best of his ability. He wanted to benefit mankind in whatever way he could. He had struggled with the fact that he must kill some to save the rest; shouldn't everyone have the right to live? He shoved the thought to the back of his mind when he got into his plane, replacing it with his belief that some people were simply too evil to deserve happiness.

Time was up. He jetted upward out of the dark sea in the sky, feeling invincible; untouchable; victorious until…

_BOOOOOOOM!_

He was slammed against the controls, and a searing pain ravished his body. He screamed and looked down at his fingers. They were embedded with minute shards of colored glass, and he wished he had kept his gloves on. There was fire behind him, and his terrified eyes widened further. Fire was his savior. Fire was his bane.

He turned away from the flames and looked out the shattered window. Below him, there was another plane. A civilian plane. He tried to call a warning, but his voice was choked out by the rushing wind and smoking flames. It was too late. He bit back a cry of pain as he and his enemy crashed into the aircraft below them. The three planes and their passengers tumbled out of the sky like fallen angels into the abyss that lay below them. He wished he had the naivety to think he could survive, but instead he decided to hope for a quick death. He curled up in his seat and prepared for the impact, not knowing whether to pray for the joys he had in life or curse for the human hatred that had struck them down together.

_BOOOOOOOM!_

They had landed. He was alive. The fair-haired pilot limped out of the wreckage, rivulets of blood running down his injured fingers. He surveyed the scene. To his surprise, the other two planes were in even worse shape than his was. The civilian plane lay cracked open like some immense carcass, but he was unable to see anyone inside it. He winced as he plucked the shards out of his palms.

Maniacal laughter seized him. He couldn't believe this cosmic joke. Another plane wreck on an island in the middle of a war. He knew it was an island this time; as a pilot, he must be aware of the areas he chose to fly over. He began to walk over to the wreckage to check for survivors, but he quickly changed his mind. He couldn't bear to look at another corpse, and he didn't want to take the chances that his enemy had survived. Gingerly, he relieved his plane of its arsenal and strapped his weapons to his aching body. He saw a large mountain and decided to climb it so he could survey the land.

As he limped through the thick underbrush, he saw a family of pigs. They were plump and amiable looking. Unbidden tears welled up in his eyes. Ever since the last crash, he had been unable to eat pork without retching and had given it up entirely.

When he finally reached the summit, he looked around. What he saw made him want to cry and scream like some littlun. Ralph was stranded on the same boat-shaped island he had escaped from years ago.


	2. Journey of the Passengers

**A/N:** Hi again! First off, I'd like to thank IcyKaku55 and Fauu for their kind reviews. I never expected I'd receive so much encouragement! All of you make me so happy! Also, I'm sorry it took me a while to update. It was hard to decide how I wanted to write this chapter, and I've been a bit busy lately. That's a bad excuse, though; I'm almost always busy. Anyway, reviews and constructive criticism are highly appreciated. Enjoy! :)

Also, BE WARNED! This chapter is a bit gorey. Should the rating go up to M?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own LotF, but I own Miranda!

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The girl's eyes snapped open, the same vivid green of the wilderness that awaited her. She looked around and sighed as she pushed a few strands of coffee colored hair out of her face and removed her specs. She wasn't too fond of wearing them. Was she even awake yet, or was this just another realistic dream she was sinking into after fainting? Surveying her surroundings, she decided to go with the latter. After all, wasn't she being taken to safety? Or was she being recruited? She didn't remember, but she doubted that either would have resulted in a plane wreck.

The pilot had assured everyone that the ride was completely safe; besides, who would bomb a civilian plane? There wasn't any way for the enemy to tell that most of the passengers were being recruited for the military.

She looked around again to see if anyone she knew had appeared in her dream while she was thinking. Maurice was gone. That made her feel a bit lonely, but at least he wasn't there to bother her. Still, she saw some people. She wondered what they were doing in her dream. She got up to check.

None of the people were moving. She touched one's wrist, the one sitting by a broken window, and there was no pulse. He felt cold. She turned his head so she could see his face, and there was a gaping hole where his eye should have been. She turned back to check the other passengers, but she heard a crunching sound. She looked under her sneaker and saw crushed glass and a squished eyeball. Though it made her nauseous, she couldn't turn her gaze away from the macabre sight. It must have been her subconscious trying to tell her something, and she hoped to remember it when she woke up.

She decided not to touch any of the other dream-corpses, only look at them. She didn't recognize anyone but the pilot. His cadaver was soaked with blood, and his arms were bent at unnatural angles. What would this symbolize? Her parents would tell her she was just having nightmares about the war, but she always tried to search for deeper meanings. She guessed that this meant she should rule her own life and not let anyone else guide her, nice as they may be.

The emergency escape door was open, and she turned to get out. This was a dream; her stuff would be next to her when she woke up. Outside the wreck, there lay a gorgeous beach with sapphire tides and soft beds of sand to her left and a luscious green jungle to her right. An adventure! She couldn't wait, and she decided for once that it would be better if she didn't wake up for a while. The salty air smelled so nice compared to that of the bodies. Aside from the wreck, this paradise seemed untouched by human war. A few tracks of footprints led out into the jungle.

Could there be more people? Maybe they'd be friendly!

Just as she was about to jump out into the powdery sand, she heard a banging. It was coming from a door marked 'no admittance' in red letters, capitalized to scare away curious batty girls like her. She took a few steps closer, and the cacophony escalated. There was no one to stop her in dreams. Taking a deep breath, she flung it open.

Out tumbled a scrawny boy about her age, either in his late teens or early twenties. His obsidian black hair hung in long, tangled locks, and she couldn't see his eyes because he was blindfolded. He was also gagged and tied up in… a straitjacket? What was a guy in a straitjacket doing in her dream? She untied his blindfold and yanked the gag out of his mouth.

Grey eyes turned to her in an icy glare. Dark shadows lurked beneath them; he needed sleep. His skin held a pallor signalizing that he didn't get outside much. She smiled at him brightly.

"Hi! I'm Miranda! I know you're not real, but I'd like to get to know you better before I wake up, and I thought you might like to explore this place with me. There's this pretty beach, and this huge jungle, and there might be other people here, too! I think you're here with me because you symbolize- Oh wait! I forgot! I'm sorry, but what's your name? I'm Miranda!"

He continued to gaze at her coldly. Why was he so upset? Shouldn't he be grateful because she rescued him? Oh wait… his clothes appeared to be soiled. Maybe he was too embarrassed to thank her. She wondered why this dream-person was in a straitjacket and why no one untied him so he could go to the privy. Before she could think of something to ask him without causing further embarrassment, he finally proved he was capable of oral communication.

"Untie me," he hissed.

"But you're not answering any of my questions, dream-person. I might not ever get to meet you again after I wake up." Confusion flooded his face for a split second, but his expression switched back to a glare, making her feel uncomfortable. She hated being bossed around, but she wanted to help him even though he didn't exist.

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll untie you after you answer some of my questions. First off, what's your name?"

"Roger," he muttered to the floor.

"Why are you tied up, Roger?"

"It's none of your business, Batty."

Miranda frowned. She used to be sensitive about other people calling her crazy, but she learned to deal with it over the years. Still, hearing it from a dream-person hurt a bit.

"I'm not untying you until you tell me," she added a bit more harshly.

Roger looked at her with hesitation, obviously trying to determine whether or not to tell her the answer. Finally, he replied, "I'm being taken somewhere to be studied and punished."

"For what?" This dream-person was making her curious. She wanted to hurry up with the interrogation so she could go exploring with him.

"I already answered your question, and you don't have to know anything else. Now untie me already."

"But I want to know why!"

"I killed someone on an island. There, I admit it. I killed someone. Now do you want to know why? Or how I feel about it? Why should you care? Whether I feel guilty or not, I'm a murderer. Now untie me."

This outburst made her even more curious, but she didn't want to torture him further. Who did this dream-murderer kill, and why? She felt miserable. It would make the dream harder to analyze when she recovered, and she wished the dream-person would stop being so mean to her. Why did practically everyone have to make her feel like an outcast?

"You could have said 'please,'" she murmured as she stooped down to untie him. After all, she couldn't die in a dream. He didn't reply and stared intently at the floor.

After she untied the knot, he yanked off the straitjacket to reveal a white T-shirt. His pale arms were dotted with bruises, and there were scarred rings around his bony wrists. He pushed Miranda out of the way and walked over to the nearest corpse, the one with the missing eye. He gave it an odd look, a mix of morbid curiosity and other emotions less obvious. He yanked out the remaining eye and tossed it out the window then broke off a shard of glass.

He buried it into the soft flesh of the man's neck and pushed it in deeply, slicing around his neck. Scarlet liquid flooded over his hands, and he grinned. When the neck was sliced all around, he held the glass up to his mouth and slid his tongue over the crimson stain. He tossed it out the window then ran his bloodied finger up the sides of the man's mouth. The dream-murderer inspected his work and smiled softly at the corpse's red, gaping grin. Miranda shuddered.

The dream-murderer turned around. The initial shock in his eyes was soon replaced with cold contempt. "Why are you still here?" he asked quietly.

"I- I thought you were going to explore the place with me." She couldn't take her eyes off the butchered body. The dream-person let go of the head, and it flopped to face her with its bestial grin.

The dream-person gave a huff of exasperation. He proceeded to yank off the person's pants. Miranda turned away.

"What are you doing?" she asked nervously.

Ignoring her question, he pushed past her to get into the privy. He was wielding the corpse's pants and underwear. She heard a thud as another corpse hit the floor with its lower garments around its ankles. This was some sick dream. The dream-person slammed the door shut. She heard a barely audible slap and the sound of running water about five seconds later.

After a minute, the dream-murderer stepped out with the eyeless-person's pants and sopping wet hair. He walked past her and stepped out onto the sandy shore. She bounded after him and kicked off her shoes, reveling in the soft feel of the dream-sand between her toes. The dream-murderer turned around, but not to look at her. She looked over to see what he was staring at. Two more wrecks, both planes small enough for only a pilot to fit in. There were no corpses in either of them.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere where no one will follow me," he replied quietly. He returned into the wreckage, and Miranda heard a snapping sound. The dream-murderer was back, cradling the bestial head as if it were a teddy bear. He clutched it against his chest and walked off towards a mountain in the distance.

"This is my dream. You can't tell me what to do!"

He turned to look at her with his eyes as grey as knife blades. "This is not a dream," he said. "This is reality; a world of evil and corruption. Accept it."

She thought of telling him that she _knew_ that reality was evil and corrupted. It had been ever since Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge. If she were Eve, she would have been tempted by the fruit, too. Still, she wouldn't have eaten it; she would have chopped down that darn tree! Not that she didn't like trees, of course.

She decided that there would be no use in arguing with him, but she followed him anyway because she wanted to climb the mountain to find out if they were on an island. Miranda wished that she could have dreamed of islands more often. Aside from the dream-murderer, the beach was too perfect to be real.

The dream-murderer led her along a dusty path that didn't hurt her bare feet, probably carved by some animal. He looked around suspiciously as if suspecting something to come out of nowhere. To her surprise and relief, he didn't speak to her or attempt to shoo her away; apparently, he had correctly concluded that his attempts would be in vain. Though she wished for conversation, she was thankful for the company.

The plants were wild and tropical, and her hair soon became tangled with twigs and leaves. She didn't mind, though. Her hair rarely bothered her, and even if it did, she would be too excited to care. She spotted a few birds bedecked in vivid arrays of colored feathers and swift lizards that would dart across the trees.

Eventually, they heard a rustling. They turned to see who, or _what, _it was. A flash of fiery red became visible in the distance through the undergrowth. The dream-murderer cautiously took a step closer.

"Damn it," came a voice from the patch of red. "This place is just like-" A man stumbled onto the path. He looked up to reveal a freckled face alight with sky blue eyes which widened with astonishment upon seeing them. He was also about her age. The dream murderer gasped and dropped the head. Miranda stepped forward to see what was going on.

The dream-murderer clearly recognized this other dream-person. His fear and astonishment chilled to cold, venomous fury. Still, his voice remained soft though choked with contempt.

"Jack?"

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**A/N:** What do you think of Miranda? Like her? Hate her? I hope she isn't a Mary Sue or a cliched girl-on-the-island. Please tell me if she needs any adjustments. Also, do you notice anything familiar about her (hint-hint)? I hope you enjoyed this! :)


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